Maybe I won't take my coat off.

[3-12-21]

I can feel the funk lifting, the February New England blues. As the expansion from deep winter starts and the ducks fly back into the wetlands behind the house, anxiety starts to wind through me.

I know, it 'should' feel light to step outside into the earth and smell growth and send prayers into little seedlings waiting by the window's light. It 'should' feel better, but transitions are tricky little things.

When Lucas was in preschool and kindergarten, I would have to tell the teachers that he would take longer than they expected to transition from seasons. In winter he would wear shorts when other kids were in snow pants and in summer he wouldn't want to let go of the coat he had finally put on.

We were fortunate to have really amazing teachers in his life who let him find his way. And, it was stressful, hard to watch his small body ache from the changes, his skin itch, his comfort taken.

He was a teacher for me. I learned so deeply about myself through him. Why I feel weepy in spring, filled with anxiety, unsure. The harsh transitions of life that often aren't keeping pace with who we are.

I wanted to write today, as my lentils are sprouting and the coat is quite unnecessary to remind myself, us, that we are where we are. I'm thrilled to feel the depressive mix of January and February fade and I'm uncomfortable with the anxiety bubble coming up in 'letting go of my coat.'

I'm more tired. I'm having some trouble sleeping. My mind is racing.

If my expectations of myself are to pop right out of my winter shell and into glorious spring, I'm going to suffer. Like a kid being forced to change his shorts for snow pants when his skin is screaming out.

I remind myself that I get to pace myself, I get to choose when to take my coat off, I get to carve out rest time to help with lack of sleep, I get to make an extra cup of decaf and sit outside without shoes while still bundled in my coat, I get to be where I am.

I also ask myself what feels good right now. Extra showers, making sure to get dressed every morning, those sprouted lentils tucked into sandwiches, cuddles, laughing with Dave, lunch time when all the kids scatter around making food and talking, getting to the other side of things that need to be sorted, those sweet seeds becoming food, beeswax candles, Mayan Copal incense, hot coffee, cozy sweaters, finishing a plan, taking a drive, organizing my spices, planning what is next, stillness, Bailey the chicken sitting on my lap while she eats her dried bugs!

There is a vulnerablity inside of spring's arrival. It feels like anticipation mixed with a bit of fantasy mixed with deep desire. It is the archetype of the Maiden, the energy of the days after a woman's/girl's bleed (follicular phase), the expansion of the first quarter moon.

I wanted to write today to remind myself, us, that vulnerability is quite lovely. Intense, but lovely. It takes practice. It requires some stillness and trust. The coat will come off, the snow boots will get tucked away, our skin will ache for the sun and our feet will thirst for the wet earth. The seeds will (hopefully) sprout and our transition will complete.

This transition is ours to make. I wanted to write to remind myself, us.